Spider
by YouLowerTheIQofTheWholeStreet
Summary: <html><head></head>Sebastian Moran mourns Jim. He might just be wasting his time.</html>
1. Chapter 1

Spider.

Sebastian watched through the sight of his rifle as Jim clicked the safety off and aimed the barrel into his mouth. Time seemed to slow, moving like the ticking of a bomb, quiet, but loud and piercing through the silence. A carefully manicured finger tensed around the cool metal of the trigger.  
>This hadn't been the plan. This had <em>never<em> been the plan. The gun was simply a rash survival tactic in case all else failed. If Jim, or somehow, all his men, became compromised. If Sherlock refused to jump.  
>Sebastian was ready to shoot, he had a clean target; a shot between Holmes' eyes would put him out in a millisecond, just another drop of waste metal embedded in flesh he could add to his already metres long list. But if he was nothing else, he was a man who took his orders and kept to them.<br>No compromise.  
>The shot rang out, echoing through the dirt and grime and pollution of London City, and Sebastian didn't flinch, didn't falter as his boss crumpled to the ground, dark, glossy blood pooling around his temple. He calmly dismantled his gun and walked down the stairwell. A few moments later, as if no time had passed at all, he was stepping onto the roof of St Barts, lighting a cigarette as he loomed over the corpse, the carcass of Jim Moriarty.<p>

He stood there for a while, he wasn't quite sure how long. Long enough for it to start raining. For the blood to seep into every crack and crevice as though it was trying to escape. Long enough for the blood to dry and clot, looking more like rust than something that had been pumping through Jim's veins just a little while ago. Eventually, Sebastian refocused, lighting another cigarette and crouching down, removing Jim's tie pin; a little diamond fox, and dropping it into his pocket.  
>He turned and walked, refusing himself the temptation of turning back.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

It had been 3 months since the fall.

Everything that previously held Jim's scent, Sebastian noticed, no longer did. The bed sheets, pillows, even the wardrobe previously smelled like cinnamon and honey, a scent Sebastian never could really work out. Jim always smelled like that, it never changed. Not after a shower, in the mornings, after sex…  
>He'd kept the network tied together, just. The web of strings had slowly began to disintegrate but Sebastian was just about keeping hold of the reigns; the less people who knew of the situation, the better. Those who had worked for Jim and had seen what had happened were quickly silenced. <em>No loose ends, Moran.<em>

6 months after the fall and Sebastian decided he was to be commended on his new found ability to multitask. He could drink and shoot, smoke weed and shoot, he even played poker once and won the set as he sent a bullet into his assignments' chest. One of Jim's old employees suggested he was going 'rogue'. Sebastian remarked that 'you can't go rogue killing people when that's the thing you were doing in the first place', and shot the man through the kneecaps and between the eyes for good measure.

12 months since the fall and Sebastian had decidedly 'got over' Jim Moriarty. He was fucking someone new each night, drinking himself into oblivion each day, and slaughtering anyone that contradicted him.

2 years after the fall and he was in a cell, throwing a ball repetitively against the concrete wall, as he had been doing for the last 48 hours. He'd been there for 6 months, and it was, admittedly, his own fault. He had tried, at 4am, on Christmas Eve, to kill the apparently ever-living Sherlock Holmes. A new kind of anger rose in him every time he considered Jim died for nothing. And Sherlock fucking Holmes wasn't just alive. He was smug.  
>It was one day, while Sebastian was in his cell, that everything changed.<br>Alarms started ringing, the distinct click of the automated locks of the door opening. Sebastian stood, ready to run, when something stopped him in his tracks. A small, black spider running into his room, through the open doorway.  
>And written across the wall opposite the cell, when he'd finally dragged his eyes from the creature, were four words.<p>

_Did you miss me?_

Leaning casually against the wall, laced, gleaming leather shoes looked out of place in the dim, dirty prison. Cut, sleek trousers, creasing around the knee, cutting off at the man's hips. A thin, crisp shirt traced and outlined pale skin. A Westwood jacket was holding the thin frame by two dark buttons, reflecting the lack of light in the prison halls.

Jet black hair slicked back, not even a fraction out of place.  
>Sebastian scanned up, meeting glittering eyes, reflecting like diamonds, damage and death and, oh, sin. Lips previously soft and delicate, carrying the words that held a thousand death sentences, and halted life, now cracked and pale. Still, a smirk was pulled tight across the chiselled features of Jim Moriarty. He turned to speak, running his eyes over Sebastian's frame.<p>

_'You've got my pin, darling. That was my favourite.'_


	3. Chapter 3

Silence. Pounding, throbbing silence.  
>Jim Moriarty.<br>James Fucking Moriarty.  
>Of course he hadn't killed himself. That would be far too fucking easy.<br>Sebastian could feel his heart beating, his stomach churning, the noise and the speed at which he blinked. He noted all of the changes. Jim had lost weight, if even possible, he'd dyed his hair, his previously manicured nails were now dry and chapped. Scars that weren't there previously were doing their best to hide under make up that dried the surrounding skin, leaving it flaking and sore.  
>Sebastian couldn't move, couldn't speak, until suddenly everything came crashing around him. He didn't break eye contact, but took a step back. He moved his foot, before stepping, hearing a satisfying noise as the spider that had invaded his space was crushed.<p>

In silence, and without faltering in the slightest, Sebastian Moran walked away from his life.


End file.
